


Trapped

by terma_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atTER/MAand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onthe TER/MA collection profile.This was written in response to a Trapped story challenge. NC-17 for m/m sex.
Relationships: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski
Kudos: 2
Collections: TER/MA





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> This was written in response to a Trapped story challenge. NC-17 for m/m sex.

  
**Trapped  
by Jane Symons**

  
"Just wait til your father gets home........."

I'm a little kid again and I'm not entirely sure why it's happening but the old man's going nuts, resorting to his usual method of punishment, dragging me by my ear down the hallway, shoving me inside the cupboard under the stairs, locking the door.

It's darker than God's earth in here. So dark I can't tell which way up I am. Scary. Could be standing on my head for all I know. As usual, I panic. I start to holler and he slams the palm of his hand flat against the door, making me scream in fear. I crawl to the back, crouching by the wall like an animal and wait for him to focus his rage on someone else, though I'm scared one day he'll forget me and leave me to rot in here. My mother. I hear him shouting abuse in the kitchen.

Long time ago, coal used to be kept in this cupboard. Black as coal. Dark as night. Now it's a dump for anything we don't need. Empty bottles. Picture frames. Sons. I shift position and bump my shin on an old suitcase.

Hard to control the fear, difficult to keep stamping it down like a fire that threatens to get out of control. It's like the darkness has taken form and bulk, I begin to feel it pressing down on me, slowly to begin with, then it seems to gain momentum, forcing the breath out of my lungs. I scream in protest. You can't do this to me. Bastard. You bastard.

"Ray?"

Darkness seems to have grown arms and legs. How did that happen? I'm wrestling with these arms, they're trying to pin me down, trapping me. I'm trapped. NO!

"Ray!"

Gotta get out of here! Sweet Jesus, help me somebody. I lash out with my fists and hear a stifled groan. Good. That's good. Very good. Take that, you bastard.

"Ray, wake up!"

My cheek's slapped, not hard but sufficient to sting. Light's turned on. I'm in my own bed. My own apartment. Safe. Can't move though. Paralysed. I look around, a wild look in my eye, Ancient Mariner style. Fraser's staring down at me, real worried, running his hand over my forehead like I'm a frightened animal. I wonder if I hurt him and the thought comes from miles away.

If you trap a fly in a jelly jar and keep the lid on for a while, the fly'll stay in the jar, even when the lid's finally removed. Psychologists call it diminishing boundaries or something. Locked up in that cupboard too long, I was like that fly, as scared to come out as I'd been to go in.

It occurs to me that my face is wet, not with sweat but with tears. I'd give a lot to be able to wipe them away and almost at the same time as I have that thought, Fraser dips his head down and starts licking and kissing them away. The Mountie doesn't need to ask about the nightmare. He knows. He understands. He's at home with weird stuff like this. Stella, she couldn't handle it. "Ray," she'd say, "it happened years ago, you should be over it by now." Can't blame her though. Husband's supposed to be strong, able to handle stuff like that. With Fraser, it's okay if I can't handle it. And 'cause it's okay, I recover from the nightmare quicker with him than anyone else. Life's funny that way.

Mountie's still licking as if he wants to drink up all the hurt for me, suck it out of my body and spit it out like so much poison in the system. My face is dry now, he moves down to lick my neck. Jesus, must have been weeping all over the shop. Mountie's so good at licking. And kissing. Used to think the licking thing was too weird but since I've been on the receiving end of it, I'm prepared to look on it much more favourably. Fraser's the most sensuous lover I've ever had. The man can lick me all the way to paradise. Licks me all over and I mean all over. Mountie boldly goes where no man has gone before.

Neck's all cleaned up now and he moves back up the bed, taking me gently into his arms, folding his limbs around me and the movement and the comfort pushes the nightmare away even further. He starts singing, softly, slowly, don't know what the hell about but who cares, that beautiful voice in my ear brings me out in goosebumps. Then when he figures he's warbled enough, he checks me out with those baby blues.

"How are we doing?" So gentle, like a whisper. We. The Royal We. Him and me. We.

"Better. Thanks." I rub the end of his nose with mine and then kiss it. He shivers. Rubbing ends of noses is highly erotic in Freezerland, so he tells me.

"Was that the usual?" he asks, with a lift of one eyebrow. Polite. I won't mention it if you don't want to talk about it kinda thing.

"Yeah. The usual. My fucked up father doin' his trick with the stair cupboard." Me, I'm not so polite.

Fraser winces slightly at my vocabulary. We fuck like rug rats but try and get him to say it. Out of bed, he's all thank you kindly and I'm sorry but this is a no smoking environment but once you get him going with a tactical touch or a hot kiss, he'll fuck anywhere and anyhow. Says its 'cause he lived with the Inuits or Minuets or whatever. Made him broad minded. Myself I think it's 'cause the man is hot with a capital haitch. The Mountie can't help it.

But the Mountie will never say fuck. According to him, we make love, we don't fuck. Maybe the Queen never says fuck. Wonder what she says when she trips over a corgi. "Oh dear," probably. Or, "Hmmmm." The British are half crazy anyway. I blame it on drinking tea. Look what drinking tea's done to Turnbull.

"I'm afraid that it's my fault you had the nightmare, Ray. I was lying half on top of you."

"Frase, I'm perfectly capable of cookin' up that nightmare for myself, thank you very much." I don't want him blaming himself for this. "You lie half on top of me every night. Do I have this nightmare every night?"

He sighs, a little relieved by this. "No. But even so—"

I stop that gorgeous mouth of his with a kiss. One of my specials. The Kowalski Special. Taken years to perfect. Starts off kinda slow, a little comfortable exploration of lips and gums, then I push forward between the perfect teeth to indulge in some heavy tongue to tongue combat. Once the Mountie's breathing is speeding up and he's pulling me in closer against his hardening rod, I move in for the kill, plundering his mouth like I'm fucking it, asking to be fucked like that myself, making him groan with the anticipation of it. By the time I'm finished, his heart's thumping crazily against me in rhythm with mine, we're both hard as steel and fighting for breath as if we'd just done a 150 yard swim underwater in a sinking ship.

"Want you, Frase," I'm panting, licking his right bicep with the flat of my tongue. This always does it for him. He moves so he's lying over me and I really must have got him going 'cause he's pinning my wrists above my head and kissing me til I start to see stars. I writhe and burn under him, arch myself so that our sweating chests collide, rampant nipples clashing. He's still kissing me, though by now my mouth's aching and my jaw feels like rigor mortis has set in. Jesus, can the Mountie kiss.

I lift my legs, wrapping them like a $100 whore round his waist. Diverted, he breaks off kissing me and buries his face in my neck, where he groans, very loudly. Tells me I'm too sexy for my own good. Not sure quite what he means by that but it sounds nice. Truth is, we both know that after one of these nightmares, there's not much call for foreplay or finesse, I need to get fucked to oblivion, simple as that. Fucked til I can't remember I have a name, let alone a father.

Fraser angles himself for entry, and there's a stab of pain as he pushes his cockhead through and I can feel the muscles round my asshole spasming round the rim. Mountie's well endowed. Worth the pain though, taking every inch of that thick joystick into me, letting it fill me til it's jamming up against my prostate, making it start to sing with pleasure. My own tool feels tight as a drum, like it could burst any second, sandwiched nicely between our stomachs.

Fraser lies still, letting me adjust to him before he moves. But I'm well lubricated from earlier in the night and juicy with the spunk he's already shot into me. And I feel rampant as all hell. And I need the pain to clean away memories. I start to grind down on him, working inner muscles to clamp round his dick like a sailor's fist. He groans again. I just love making the Mountie groan. He's forced to start moving, pleasuring us both, getting into some serious humping, sending my prostate into ecstasies. I meet him thrust for thrust and soon Fraser's slamming into me hard and fast and we're groaning and sweating and slapping wetly against each other's bodies. For minutes, maybe hours, maybe days, there's nothing but being fucked, hard and dirty and perfect, and I'm going out of my mind which is just where I want to be. Fraser's fucking me to Nirvana. I'll be out there with the angels any moment now. The pleasure's just this side of intolerable and then I'm suddenly over the edge, my cock surging forward, splattering cum between our thrusting bodies while I'm screaming myself hoarse.

"Fras-er! Fras-er!" Never could get my head round calling him by his first name.

The Mountie comes with me then, he doesn't scream but he gives a wonderful roar like some kind of animal and I feel his tool pulsing load after load of hot spunk inside me. Bet I'm sizzling away inside.

"Fras-er!" I'm having those violent contractions you get with a really good fucking and I'm holding onto him so hard my nails are digging into his skin. In spite of his own orgasm, he's making sure I'm okay, holding my head between his hands, watching my face. We work out the last of our passion lost in each other's eyes.

"Ray," he's moaning, "Ray, oh Ray."

Sweetest damn words I ever heard.

God, I love the guy so much it hurts.

Finally, Fraser collapses over onto his back, satiated and grinning. I think how good it is to have been the one to put a smile like that on his face. He draws me to him and I lay my head on his chest.

"Wow, Frase, I come so hard with you that sometimes I think I'm gonna ejaculate the brains right out of my head."

"I wouldn't do that, Ray. For one thing it would be very messy and uncomfortable. Not to mention utterly impossible."

I sigh contentedly. "I was embellishing again, Frase."

"Oh I see. A kind of poetic licence."

I look up at him. His hair's wet with sweat. He's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. "Poetic licence? You mean poets need a licence?"

"No, Ray." He runs his fingers through my hair. "Poetic licence is just a phrase."

"So it's an embellishment."

"Well, yes, I suppose you could call it that."

See, the Mountie and me sometimes have a little communication problem but we get there in the end. And sometimes we drive one another nuts. But that's okay. I think of us like we're a big old tree and it doesn't matter if the branches get tossed around in the wind and the storm 'cause the roots go down so deep and they're so entwined that nothing's going to tear them out of the ground.

We're entwined now, arms, legs and fingers, and we're gradually drifting off to sleep.

And, you know, I'm almost looking forward to my next nightmare...

end...

* * *

This was written in response to a Trapped story challenge. NC-17 for m/m sex.  
FEEDBACK: [email removed]   
---


End file.
